


Zombiepark

by appleflax



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst?, Because Cartman, Character Death, Gore, Homophobic Language, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23926126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleflax/pseuds/appleflax
Summary: People had began to fall ill mid March and by the time April rolled round, everything had gone to shit.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Kyle Broflovski/Stan Marsh
Comments: 36
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

At first he’d found it difficult to distinguish what was fact and what was grossly exaggerated, but after a few days of sifting through every report paper, article and channel, he managed to eventually find consistency in the news.

The first person to fall sick was a man in Michigan, who’d admitted himself with a high fever and dropped into a coma in the middle of the hospital waiting room. The man had no visible injuries and his medical record was crystal clear- so clear in fact, that he often volunteered for clinical trails and tests. The doctors ran test after test but other than a high white blood cell count, the Michigan man was perfectly healthy, no signs of any drugs or alcohol in his system. The case wasn't reported on as the doctors assumed it was an isolated incident, one of the hundreds of medical mysteries that happen every day. 

However a day later one of the nurses who worked to save the mans life quickly came down ill. She was sent home with migraine and some nausea, but returned a few hours later, admitting herself to the hospital as she developed a quickly worsening fever. After only three hours it had risen to 104°F and over the next six, her doctors and coworkers could only watch as she began to loose her memory and awareness of her surroundings and the control of any muscular coordination or speech. As her heart rate slowed and she began slipping into a coma, the doctors called in both her family and outside clinicians to observe and hopefully offer some sort of advice or explanation. 

On Wednesday morning, at 11:38 am the Michigan man was pronounced dead. At 12:23 the nurse was pronounced dead. Zero brain activity, heart no longer beating. 

The news reported that as they prepared to remove the bodies, the first man, patient zero, jerked up awake and alert. Every doctor and nurse on that floor rushed to his side, amazed and bewildered that the man they'd just declared dead was up and walking towards them with an outstretched hand. 

Six people were immediately killed and a dozen more were scratched or bit before the hospital staff managed to lock the man in a hallway- alongside all the patients in adjoining rooms and their friends and coworkers corpses. 

The story was broadcasted that night, it was all over social media and every news channel in every country was telling the story of how staff in a Michigan hospital were attacked by a dangerous "undead" coma patient earlier that day. However the report was largely met with skepticism and disinterest, the story too far fetched to be true. With the media’s tendency to exaggerate and the internet’s penchant for click bait, he himself wouldn’t of believed it- had he not watched a leaked video of the incident over his brothers shoulder. In all his life and through all his childhood hijinks, he'd never seen anything so disgusting and viscerally disturbing. The mans skin was sullen and grey tinged, his eyes completely vacant of any recognition of his surroundings, his sole focus on the screaming people around him and scrambling towards them in an attempt to sink his mouth and fingers into any flesh he can reach. In true horror fashion the video ended with a scream as he turned to approach, the floor slick with blood beneath him. 

Unknown to the rest of the world things were already mush worst than they appeared. 

As staff gave statements and cleaned their wounds and went home, secure in letting the police handle the man and cadaver, the hallway was coming alive. While the hospital staff and patients fell from fevers and slipped into comas at various paces, the nurse had awoken and joined the man in sweeping through the hallway and rooms in the search for more uninfected flesh- the poorly prepared police breaking down the hospital doors certainly not an exception. With full round of bullet holes in their chests, they left the police writhing on the floor and with the freedom of the open doors, the hospital soon grows overrun, a maze of thousands infected employees and patients ready to flood the streets. Joined by any infected staff that went home and also turned, awaking from their comas to tear into their families and lovers, biting and scratching and killing more and more people. 

There was no time to close or lock down the city, no chance to stop the spread or say goodbye. The city was infected overnight and by morning it was infested. Those that did manage to flee, more than likely brought the virus with them, spreading it from city to city, state to state. It was coming to South Park, it's just a matter of time.

The school's closed and his parents started staying home from work. South Park slowly became a ghost town as people refused to go out, the stores shutting, their shelves empty. It's silent in a way the town never has been before. So he spends his time reading- the news, articles, reports, conspiracies. He tells his mother it's to keep him from going crazy, but considering that his already record breaking number for minutes spent hand washing has peaked, his stock of hand sanitizer instantly depleted and his carpet has grown worn from pacing, maybe he already has. 

On the twenty ninth of April, they mayor releases a short statement to the residence of South Park. Their first case of the virus has been reported. 

That day his father, who’d been working on their basement as a pet project, booted up the old generator and moved their beds down. He triple locked the door behind them. And it’s in this space, with flickering lights, a broken toilet door and creaking rafters, that Kyle and his family have been crammed into for nearly five months.


	2. Chapter 2

Daytime is always quiet. After they lost the internet barely a month in and with each channel on their small brick TV static too, Kyle and Ike spend most of their days playing dusty board games or fading cards to keep themselves entertained. They eat lunch and dinner in silence, their survival depending on them being unnoticed by the world above. They don't really have much to say to each other anyway, any possible past topic has already been talked about until there's nothing left to say. 

Nighttime is far worse. When they've all gone to bed and the lights go out, he wishes it were quiet. Glass crunches under their feet, their gurgling moans uncomfortably clear. Sometimes he hears hoarse screaming or a grunting that sounds horrifically close to speech. It causes terror to bubble beneath his skin and tonight they’re especially loud.

He'd woken with a start near six and their groaning has kept him awake since. It sounds as if ones right outside the basement door, the shuffling too and fro nearly in time with the continuous ticking of the wall clock, slowly driving Kyle insane. He wonders if they broke through the sliding doors or if they came in through the windows. Can they climb? Do they group up, can they run? Other than what he gathered from the shaky phone video he saw with Ike and some other short blurry clips posted when the internet was still up, he doesn't know much about them. Just that they tear into people like they’re a birthday cake.

A crash upstairs has Kyle flinching were he lays, and not for the first time he wonders if this is all real. Flesh hungry dead people? Cowering in a cold basement? Not seeing the sky for months? Only five months prior his life was the same as it’d ever been. He'd been getting good grades, his parents were proud of him and next year he would've picked a college to go to. All that's gone now. 

A soft humming starts up, letting him know the family is ready to start another day of boredom. Across from him, Ike slides from his bed and pops his back after another night on the bed he's quickly outgrowing. Kyle blinks his eyes closed, letting them adjust to the horrible white light that his little brother just flipped on. Despite being awake for the last three hours, a yawn still pulls from his lungs as he twists around in his tangled bed sheets until his mother comes into sight. She’s propped up in her bed, reading glasses balanced on her nose as she skims over a book.

A wave of appreciation hits Kyle and he smiles at her when she notices the movement. He gives into the urge to give her a hug, padding over to her bed and sitting on her novel as he happily pulls him into her arms. He can feel the steady beat of her heart underneath his head and she looks at him with a gentle smile, a rare break from her usual worry filled eyes. It's a nice moment, broken only when he stands up to shuffle around his feet, the concrete floor cold and causing them to go numb.

The spot beside her is empty, his father not in bed as he’d usually be. Kyle instead spots him in a chair to the left of them as he looks around, his eyes closed and head tilted back in his sleep. He wonders if it was Gerald moving around that woke him with a start early this morning or if he slept there all night. He'd still been up and about when Kyle headed off to sleep. 

"Did you have a good sleep?" She tries to whisper her question, in what he assumes to be an attempt to no disturb Gerald, but he doesn't stir and raises her voice to a quiet chatter. "Try to be quiet hon, your fathers very tired." He gives his mother a nod, well aware of how tired Gerald will be. 

Occasionally, no more than once a month, the generator will groan and the lights will go out, engulfing them in darkness that’s usually reserved for the hours of transition between late night and early morning. Yesterday was one such day, causing Gerald to fumble for a torch and leave their double padlocked, dead bolted safe haven while they waited with baited breath. He returned shortly after the lights flickered back on and the heater hummed to life. Like every other time, he came back pale faced and like a few times before, with blood staining his clothes. Once, Kyle had asked if he could join him, if only to stand in the sun for the first time in what feels like years, and he'd spent the next two hours being whisper yelled at for his trouble. He's happy his father said no now, as he always spends the next few hours alone in the bathroom and sleeps for hours the next day. They don't ask him what happened. 

"Okay mom," he says, giving his mother's hand a squeeze and going to change in their tiny basement bathroom. He finds it helps, keeping small routines. Keeps him from loosing all sense of time- with the only window a small rectangle high in the wall, newspaper and thick wood nailed into its frame, the lack of daylight can be jarring and confusing at the best of times.

Forgoing another cold shower and opting instead to comb back his ever growing hair, Kyle sighs to himself in the mirror. His hair has grown in the past months and as much as he likes his curls, he really needs a proper haircut and maintenance by someone who actually knows what they're doing. His father had offered him help with the electric razor the other day, but as much as he doesn't want his hair to grow into his childhood "jew-fro", he's definitely not shaving his head again- never again. Splashing water in his face, he grabs some toilet paper to wipe his eyes dry and blow his nose. The guilt sets in promptly, as he remembers a conversation between his parents about their dangerously dwindling paper and food supply. He's sure they’ll have to brave the outside world soon to get more supplies, though he knows his father will do that alone, as he has on the other few occasions they've run out of something.

Kyle tugs on his ushanka, laces up his shoes and shrugs on his coat as he steps from the bathroom. In their small living space, Ike sits by the dingy little heater with a pack of cards in his hand, waiting for Kyle as he has every morning for the past four months. “Took you long enough.” He smiles up at him, gesturing for Kyle to hurry up and sit down. The basement gets very boring very quickly, especially for a smart kid like Ike. Secretly, he thinks Ike appreciates more than tolerates all of Kyle's routines and habits.

They play for nearly two hours but as Kyle goes to deal once more, their mother lets out a blood curdling shriek, startling them both and causing the cards to go flying over the floor.

“Gerald?!”

Her voice is strained and raw and Kyle's sure he's never heard so much pain and desperation in her voice. She cries again and Kyle rushes to his feet, Ike following suit. Sheila stands by Gerald in the chair, her hands on his shoulders as she shakes him roughly. Kyle starts forward concerned and confused, but she yells at him to stop. He can hear his heart pounding in his chest, his throat dry as Sheila heaves a sob and tries to speak but only chokes on her words. Kyle and Ike can only stare in shock as her hands clutch their fathers shirt, his head lolled to the side, his arms limp. Her hands scramble for his wrist, then for his neck. She only sobs louder.

Slowly, the realization that his father must be dead comes to Kyle, coupled with a cool dread creeping up his spine. His father’s dead. Gone. Tears spring to his eyes, a thick lump of emotion stinging his throat. Ike’s hand finds his and Kyle clutches it to his chest, much like his mother holding their fathers. He’s doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know how to move. Holy shit.

Gerald's eye snap open and his neck gives a sickening crack as it straightens. Kyle doesn’t have the chance to blink before his teeth have sunk into Sheila's throat. He rips his head back, pulling her esophagus back with him. Her scream is drowned into a low gurgle as blood splays from the hole in her throat, ribbons of meat dangling from Gerald's teeth as he sinks into her shoulder, preventing her body from falling back. Dark red blood pools on the floor, staining the concrete and dying her nightgown black. 

His body is numb and Kyle can feel himself stumble back as he watches his father tear apart his mother with his teeth, his vision tunneling and blurring at the edges. All the blood has drained from his face leaving his head woozy and filled with cotton. He’s barely aware of the hand painfully clenched in his own, his breath sliding to a halt, lungs burning but unable to fill. A ringing sound echos through his ears, Ike heaving a sob beside him the only sound piercing through the static.

Gerald turns to them at the sound, no longer interested in their mothers corpse. Kyle finds himself held by the glazed over eyes of his father. The skin of his face is clammy and pale, blood splatter caught in his hair. There's a sick squelching as Gerald pulls his mouth from their mothers neck, long strings of red drool dripping to the floor from his lips. He lurches forward and like a flip of a panic switch, thinking returns to him, " **we're next** " blaring through his mind red block lettering. 

His mind reinstated, Kyle whirls his head to the locked door above them. With strength he didn’t know he had, Kyle pivots on his foot and tugs Ike up the rickety stairs. He fumbles as he grabs the keys from the hook, his hands wretched with violent tremors that nearly cause them to fall. The first key doesn't fit in the padlock, or the second. Ike tugs on Kyle's coat with increasing panic and Gerald releases a guttural groan as the stairs creak under his weight. The padlock falls on the stairs with a thud, the smaller second lock following right after, tumbling through the gaps in the stairs to the basement floor below them. 

He slams the final key into the deadbolt and the door flies open with a loud bang as it impacts against the wall.


	3. Chapter 3

The grass is slick with dew and rotten leaves, the trees crack and thick grey clouds roll overhead in time with their frantic sprint. He can see his breath in the air in front of him, his lungs burn, a painful stitch in his side.

He’s not sure how long they’ve been running, or even where. He used to know this town like the back of his hand, but with damaged buildings and corpses littering the street, Kyle finds himself unsure of where they’ve ended up. With burning legs and cold prickling skin, they skid to stop by a cluster of trees, panting harshly, heart thumping. Ike bends over, his chest heaving as he retches acid onto the grass. 

He lets Ike’s hand drop from his own and though he hasn’t been keeping the best track, the town has seemed mostly deserted. Just in case, Kyle gives the street a quick scan for any more of those... people, things- it appears that they’re alone. The area is pretty empty, the street lined with houses with shattered windows and broken down doors but mostly void of any cars or corpses. The winds picking up, a biting chill in the air despite the supposedly warmer season and the trees cast dark shadows over their heads, birds chattering somewhere nearby.

Beside him Ike shudders, the rising wind whipping through his thin tshirt and hoodie, his toes red from running barefoot. He looks up at Kyle, his cheeks stained and body racked with shivers and Kyle knows he must be freezing, and here Kyle is in his coat and hat and boots and Kyle doesn’t know the first thing about looking after another person, he’s not ready to do this, he can’t do this. What does he do now? He doesn’t know where to go, where would be safe or have food or protection. He doesn’t know what those things are capable of or how many of them there are or how to stop them. But he has to do _something_. Anything. Think, think, think. 

They need to get out of the street least they risk Ike’s health- or get attacked. They couldn’t defend themselves, the window rustling the trees behind them and moaning through a nearby broken window enough to make Kyle think he’s going to be sick. Maybe they could enter one of the nearby houses? Then they could get clothes and food. But what if someone’s inside? They were lucky enough that their own house was unoccupied and there’s no guarantee that any of these houses have anything of use to them.

“Okay Ik-“ A loud click causes him to whirl around, staring down the barrel of a shotgun. A day's worth of panic bubbles over and his throat constricts as tears burn down his cheeks. His arms instinctively reach for his little brother, pulling Ike behind him as he stumbles back. “Please, please don’t shoot, we’re- we’re not, we were just leaving, please let us go'' His throat is still raw from grief and his words are fitted between hurried gasps as he struggles to communicate what he knows he needs to. His head swirls and he realises that this could be it. 

“Kyle? Is that you?”

His eyes snap to the unfamiliar voice saying his name, flickering to the taller man beside him and back again to the barrel of the gun. As the figure before him lowers the gun, he takes in the sight of dark eyes set deep in a bruised face and short shaggy hair tucked under an old blue hat with a red trim. 

He would recognize him anywhere and with the gun removed from his face, the ability to breathe returns to him and Ike shifts forward until he’s hiding by his side. “Stan?” He hasn’t seen him in years, not since his parents got a divorce and his dad moved to a farm a few hours out of South Park. It was the same year Stan was heading to high school. Kyle can remember the last time they'd spoke, the day Stan was packed up into his moms station wagon and driven off to god knows where. It's not like they had cellphones they could call on.

Sheila of course had been so sad. She'd always go on about how she was “so sure Stan would be in their lives forever”. And as much as he’d moan about her sad musings, he’d thought so too. They’d been best friends since they were babies at preschool and all the way through to middle school. After he left, Kyle didn’t think he’d ever see Stan again.

His own surprise and recognition is reflected back to him on Stan’s face. “Holy shit, Kyle! Oh my god, dude! I’m so sorry, I had no idea- wow, holy shit. Kyle.”

A second passes as they just stare at each other in shock, until movement behind Stan draws his eyes to his companion- who he’d almost forgotten was there. He looks less than impressed and he glares down at them through thick brows and a hooked nose, his lips twisted into a sneer which displays brightly coloured braces, that clash terribly with his otherwise menacing appearance.

Kyle flicks his eyes back to Stan and pulls Ike closer beside him, embarrassedly wiping at his eyes and straightening his back, trying unsuccessfully to not be intimidated by the somewhat familair looking stranger. 

“Kyle I can't believe it’s you! Are you guys okay? Are you hurt?” Stan’s voice is laced with concern and hope loosens the knot in his chest. “No but we-” A deep and nasally voice interrupts him, Stan’s companion turning away them as he says “Great. We’ll be leaving now.”

Stan shakes his head and looks between them, holding his hands up in a “wait” gesture to Kyle and Ike before he jogs a few steps to the retreating figure, “Craig, they obviously need help. We can’t leave them out here.” Although he stops walking away, he doesn’t turn to face them and Kyle can see the frown on his face when he looks back to talk to Stan. “We can’t help them.” 

“Yes we can! Come on, look at them Craig, they need our help. I mean- what if it was Tricia?”

He finally looks back at them, his eyes brushing over Kyle and down to where Ike silently hangs on his sleeve, his teeth chattering in the mountain gale. He takes a deep breath before flipping Stan off, swinging a barbed baseball bat over his shoulder with the other. “Whatever Marsh.” 

Stan breathes a sigh of relief, trotting over to them with a smile. “Right,” he says “If you need anything, we want to help. We have some stuff back at base and it’d be cool if you came with us.”

He wants to agree, he really really wants to. Stan’s looking at him with crinkled eyes and softly quirked eyebrows, and it reminds him of when they were little and Stan would comfort him when he got too angry or upset. But it’s been years, he doesn’t know Stan anymore and his friend clearly doesn't want them there. 

In the crook of his arm, Ike tugs on his sleeve, something he hasn’t done since he was a baby and something in Kyle’s chest clenches painfully. He swallows the guilt and bile rising up his throat and looks back to Stan, “Okay. We’ll come with you.” 

Stan nods, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Good. Let's get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have any questions or requests or suggestions at all please please let me know!! Comments fuel me 🥺🔥


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a tense walk and they move in slow silence. He’s still unsure of where they’d ended up but it doesn’t take long until they make their way onto a road familiar to Kyle, and soon enough the elementary school comes into sight.

They shuffle through debris and Ike is forced onto his tiptoes to avoid a smattering of glass on the concrete. The wind howls past them, ripping leaves and breaking branches from the trees overhead. As they near the school's entrance, Stan looks back at them, and lowers the shotgun from where he’d been holding it ready in front of himself. 

“We have a camp inside, uh but follow me closely cause we’ve rigged up some rotter deterrents.” He heaves open one of the large entry doors, cringing as the hinges shriek in protest. 

The once bright and busy school halls are now filled with trash and shadows. Low light filters in through the open door, the storm clouds brewing above them blocking out the sun and leaving the world tinged gray. “Rotter? What's that?” 

Stan slows to a stop just inside the doors, waiting for Craig to enter in behind them before pulling the scraping door to a close. “You know. The infected guys, zombies or whatever.” He makes a face at Kyle and curves his hands into claws, nearly causing him to smile despite himself. “You know Tweek hates when you call them that.” 

Stan’s hands drop and he rolls his eyes, turning to walk down the hallway, leaving Craig to tug over a thick wooden desk in front of the doors by himself. “He’s not even here dude, get over it.” Craig scoffs at him and doesn’t reply, shoving the makeshift barricade in place and catching up behind them quickly on his long legs. Kyle makes sure to match Stans every step, pulling Ike along closely beside him; though he can’t really see any traps other than some haphazard spikes and a couple of tin can wind chimes. 

The obnoxious yellow paint of the gym doors is starting to chip away and rust coats the handles. Craig pushes past them immediately, grumbling something intelligible under his breath and shoving his shoulder into Stan as he goes. 

“I’m sorry about him. He’s a dickhead, but we’re a good group and we have enough food and shelter for you if you want to stay- which I’ll need to talk over with the guys but it’ll be fine. I can grab you some stuff to take if you don’t want to though.”

Stan’s eyes crease and he ducks his head before he looks back up at them. His hand starts to reach out towards him but he changes his mind and grabs the back of his neck instead. He sighs before speaking, hesitating before he says “Listen, I do have to ask you though, and please tell the truth…” Pausing, he looks Kyle in the eyes before he continues “Have either one of you been bit? I won’t tell the others if you have, but I need to know.”

“We haven’t.”

“You’re sure? I really need to know dude.”

Kyle squeezes his arm around Ike, tilting his head up slightly to insist. “We haven’t! I promise, we haven’t been bit.” Stan looks at him seriously, searching his face for any signs of deceit. After a moment he nods, a slight smile coming to his lips. “Okay. Right this way then.”

The hall is mostly as Kyle remembers it. The bleachers to the left, windows to the right. But now in the center lies a collection of tents and chairs, arranged in a circle- in the middle of which sits a small open fire, built in a crooked garbage tin. A few crates, backpacks and piles of trash litter the hall, alongside broken glass and discarded cans. As Stan walks them forward, a boy approaches them. He’s a bit taller than Kyle and has a horrible mullet and a sizable gap between his two front teeth. His face is stretched into a lazy smile, his hands stuffed into a bright orange parka.

“Look what the cat dragged in. Craig was bitching that you picked some folks off the street.” He says in a higher tone than Kyle would’ve expected. Stan’s smile grows to match his and he slings the shotgun down under his arm. His eyes quickly dart between them but before he gets the chance to open his mouth, the stranger jerks towards Kyle. 

“So how much for the night?” Though it takes a second for the comment to register, when it does he feels a familiar bubble of anger rise up his throat. Indignation causes his shoulders tense up to his ears and his cheeks start to burn, but recognition causes the feeling to fizzle and he takes a step back in shock. 

“Holy shit, Kenny?”

With a widening toothy smile and scrunching eyes, Kenny spreads his arms out and leans back on his heels. “The one and only baby! Good to see you Kyle.” His brain is struggling to catch up, the disconnect between the Kenny of his memories and the Kenny standing in front of him. At least Stan mostly looks the same and though the orange parka was a dead give away; Kenny sounds different, looks different and he definitely seems different from the quiet boy of Kyle's memories. 

He looks to Stan for help, suddenly feeling lost in a sea of emotion. Stan catches the look and knocks Kenny’s shoulder, “Surprised?”

“God yeah dude. I’m surprised to see you! Didn’t think I ever would again, after all this.” He waves his hand around in a vague gesture and Kyle nods in agreement. A beat of silence follows, where no one seems sure what to say or where to go from here. Ike’s arms tighten around his waist and Kenny struggles to keep his smile as Kyle looks to his feet, shuffling them awkwardly. Coming to their rescue again, Stan breaks the silence with an awkward chuckle. He looks down to Ike and asks, “Uh so, you must be pretty cold huh buddy? Kenny, do you think you can find a pair of shoes for Ike here?”

Kenny’s face lights up and he flashes an ‘okay sign’, peering down at Ike like he hadn’t realised he was there. “Hey I remember you! How old are you now dude?” Ike looks at Kyle before he speaks, his hands gripping at the fabric of his brother's coat. Kyle isn’t even sure if he remembers Stan or Kenny.

“I’m um, I’m twelve.” He sniffles at the end and tucks his head onto Kyle's arm. Ike is one of the most outgoing and confident kids that he knows (or, well,  _ knew _ ) but Kyle isn’t surprised that he’s suddenly hiding behind him and afraid to speak as if he were once more four years old. Kyle himself is two seconds away from curling up in a ball and bursting into tears after everything. 

But Kenny just smiles that easy going smile and maneuvers around Kyle to throw an arm across Ike’s shoulders. “C'mon, I’ll find ya some shoes. I’ll even throw in some socks too, if you dish some dirt on your dear old brother.”

He's dragged off, Ike throwing worried glances back to his brother as they waltz off towards the camp. He keeps his eyes on Ike as they walk away, uncomfortable to part with him after- after everything that's happened today. 

At the center of the so-called “tent city” Stan stops to unload his gun and empty his backpack in a purposeful, methodical way. Kyle gets the impression he's done this many times before. As Stan places his bag into a nearby milk crate, he explains that he and Craig had been out looting the nearby homes for food and supplies when they heard Kyle and Ike down the street. “I’m really sorry for, you know, sticking a gun in your face. We weren't sure if you were bitten or just a super conscious rotter.” 

He doesn’t need to apologise. With the racket they weren’t even aware they were making, he knows they’re incredibly lucky that it was Stan of all people and things to find them. “It’s okay Stan.”

After glancing around the hall, Kyle can’t help but feel somewhat disappointed. The windows have been shattered and wind violently rattles the remaining panes. The floor is sleek and cold beneath Kyles boots and the low fire puffing out smoke that gathers on the ceiling. Most of the tents are covered in rips and mildew or poorly put together. Fold out chairs litter the space, backpacks and makeshift weapons left propped around. He's not sure how many people stay in the camp; as he can only see Stan, Kenny and Ike, who he's made sure to keep an eye on, and of course how ever many others in the tents.

He attempts to nonchalantly shuffle closer to the fire; which though low and smokey, is still a much appreciated source of warmth compared to the wailing draft of the gym. South Park being a mountain town in a snowy state, is cursed to be cold and snowy all year round- even summer and spring bring little heat to the small town. And though the basement had certainly not been warm, it had been much better than this.

Kenny is helping Ike lace up some boots that appear a few sizes too big, but well fit considering the situation. Ike is mumbling away, though he spares Kyle a glance now and then, to make sure that he’s still there. Stan went quiet a few minutes ago, leaving Kyle to his thoughts. His head spins and not just from the smoke. The day feels like a dream, foggy and unreal-  _ he _ feels like a dream, numb and confused. Like a movie, the images of his father and mother play before his eyes, over and over again. It leaves bitterness in his mouth and pain behind his eyes that he tries to ignore.

“Hey Kyle, Ike’s all fitted up. He’s kinda out to it. Are you guys okay?” Kenny appears behind him from seemingly nowhere, causing Kyle to jump. “Fuck Kenny! Jesus, you scared me.” His heart races a mile per minute and the image of his mother's bloody trachea disappears as he exhales a shaky breath. Kenny lets out a small chuckle, the concern in his eyes betraying him. “Sorry man. I have been standing here for a hot minute though.”

He glances at Kenny sheepishly, “Oh. Sorry. We’ve had uh, a rough day.” 

He’s putting it extremely mildly but Kenny seems to understand. He hums a response and shuffles some wood around in the fire pit, leaving the conversation there. Kyle appreciates it when he says no more,happy with his company but more comfortable standing in silence. He struggles to keep his mind from drifting away, the thoughts returning to his head, the images of all that red. WIthin ten minutes his lungs feel heavy and as he tries to think of other things; a physical, palpable guilt shakes his hands. His mind is stuck on the sight of his parents and all that  _ blood, blood blood blood.  _

“Stop it, think of other things, think of other things” he tries to mentally chastise himself. Other things… Well, seeing Stan and Kenny again after all these years is strange to say the least. Back in seventh grade he’d been heartbroken when he’d realized that Stan would be going to high school without him, as despite the year difference they’d always been in the same class at elementary. He’d been even more heartbroken when he had. Then, even worse still, Stan had moved out to the farm which meant he wouldn’t even be going to school in South Park, but to a closer one in the next town over. Kyle had resigned himself to never seeing Stan again and though he’d never admit it, he'd spent countless nights crying over the loss of his “super best friend”.

He’d never really made more friends after that either. High school in South Park turned out to be much different from elementary, or even middle school. He found he didn’t really know anyone else after Kenny and Stan had left- not enough to be friends with at least. He talked to David and Butters sometimes, but he’d mostly spent his lunches in the school library, and he wouldn’t really consider them close. Not like the three of them had been- well, four, if you counted the fatass. And Kyle really didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way this has no connection to craig of the dead at all, though I think that craig is pretty similar to how I imagine him!!! but I have different headcanons for the other characters unfortunately (how they look, what they wear and carry ect). but u should still definitely look it up, it’s super cool and the art is amazing!!! :)


	5. Chapter 5

It gets darker a lot faster than Kyle would have liked it to.

He’s not sure of the time, though it felt like they’d been standing here for hours. Stan and Kenny had disappeared into the largest tent awhile ago. Earlier Kyle had tried to discern what they’d been saying, but after he heard “Strip them down” and “Trust them?” he decided it wasn’t worth it. 

Kyle has his arm linked with Ike, their hands too cold to hold. They huddle by the trash fire, shivers racking their frames despite now being swaddled in thick coats and warm hats. The wind howls through the shattered windows, battering the fire and leaving ash in their hair. There’s little light spare the fiery glow and a few torches sparingly hung on tent doors from which indistinguishable murmurs come from within.

Somehow he’s managed to keep the flood of emotions at bay. So far, that is. Ike however has spent the last few hours (he assumes) sniffling and wiping his raw cheeks. Kyle isn’t sure what to say, so he’s just held him, patting his hair like their mother would. He’s probably just made things worse.

A loud zip and cough has them turning to watch Stan emerge from the tent, a soft smile in place. “Hey guys. I’ve talked to everyone else and they agreed you can stay. I’m sorry you’ve had to stand out here for so long, you must be freezing.” He walks over to them, gently laying a hand on Kyle’s arm.

“You want to come into the tent? The whole group’s in there for once and it’ll be a good chance to meet everybody.” His voice is calm, non demanding and not for the first time does Kyle thank God that Stan found them. He looks down at Ike’s arm in his and to the illuminated tent. “Yeah, sure.” 

Stan looks pleased and he jogs back over to the tent to hold the door open for them. “You okay buddy?” he asks Ike before they walk over, pulling a piece of ash from his dark hair. He sniffles in reply, bumping his head into Kyle’s hand. His heart gives a painful squeeze.

Kyle looks around as they step inside and Stan zips the door closed behind them. The tent is large, with two rooms- it’s probably one of those “fit ten people!!!” tents. The back room appears to be a makeshift kitchen of sorts; filled with crates, jugs and pans, while the front half is almost reminiscent of a medieval war planning room; a few chairs arranged in a circle, a round coffee table in the middle. Boys sit around the room, some in chairs, the rest on the floor. And they’re all staring at Kyle and Ike. He cringes, staring at his feet in awkwardness. Ike is back to hiding behind him, too.

Stan steps to the left of them and addresses the group, “Alright, group meet Kyle and Ike, Kyle and Ike meet group.” He glances up, trying not to meet anyone stare while still searching for a familiar face. Kenny is giving them the thumbs up, and to his surprise Butters sits next to him and gives him a small wave. He recognises Craig, who sits in a chair with his arms crossed, looking just as intimidating as he had earlier. A blond boy sits on the floor beside him, twitching and wringing his hands when Kyle looks his way. A girl, the only girl, stares shamelessly at them, her eyes fixed on Ike. The last boy- no way.

Eric fucking Cartman.

The kid who was half his friend half his bully in elementary school lounges in a fold out chair as if it were a throne, his mouth twisted into an oh so pleased smile. His hands are clasped together and his voice reminds him of grease when he speaks. “Why hello Kyle. What a surprise to see you again.”

The irritation that always makes an appearance in Cartman’s presence prickles under his skin and Kyle can feel the last strings of his composure tug under his callous gaze. He ignores Cartman entirely, sucking in a breath through his nose. Beside him, Stan’s rubbing his hands together in an effort to warm them up and he flashes Kyle an apologetic grin as he takes a seat in a nearby camping chair. “Hey, sorry we don’t have more chairs in here. Oh, I can grab one from outside if you want?”

He makes to get up but Kyle shakes his head, “No it’s alright.” It’s easier to just sit on the floor, which is thankfully less cold than the bare gym floor anyway. As he settles down, Kyle pulls his coat tighter around himself, his fingers clicking in the cold. Ike shuffles around beside him, struggling to get comfortable in his oversized clothes.

“Gonna be honest Stanley, that introduction fucking sucked.” Kenny still sounds odd to Kyle, who remembers him almost exclusively muffled by his parka. “But luckily enough,” he continues “I’m here to kill the tension and complete introductions properly. You’re welcome.” His voice is light and carefree, and Kyle can’t tell if he’s trying to make them feel better or if that’s just how he is now.

“Shut up Kinny, he knows who we are.”

“Actually Cartman, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know everyone. And Ike definitely doesn’t. So buckle up and here we go!”

Kenny jumps to his feet, pointing to his own freckled face as a goofy smile crossing grows across his cheeks. His eyebrows raise as he speaks and it causes his light eyes to slowly open wider and wider as he goes. 

“Kenny McCormick at your service. Self appointed leader, the hero of this ragtag lot and of course, by far the most handsome. So if you need anything, let me know- though I’m sure anyone would be happy to help you out.”

His words are playful, but he looks over the group with a serious squint at the end, letting everyone know they’re to play nice. He sweeps past the few groans that his threat recieves, pointing across the circle and next to Kyle. 

“You of course know Stan,” Kenny’s smile builds and Stan looks momentarily concerned. “Moving on, he’s boring.” The group snickers and Stan attempts to scowl in a halfhearted protest. 

“This here is Craig Tucker, who you’ve also had the misfortune of meeting.”

Craig pulls the finger at Kenny, without looking up from where he messes with what looks like a fidget spinner concealed behind a dark sleeve. His eyes are hidden beneath black hair and a faintly familiar acrylic blue chullo, and Kyle’s glad he seems to be ignoring everyone. 

“Nice. Hiding down there is Tweek, my favourite half.” Craig snorts at him as he moves on and from down beside him a pale, freckled hand reaches out to give Kyle and Ike a hesitant wave. His hand jerks back just as quickly as it was extended, his shaking fingers returning to their previous positions- one hand occupied with twisting a strand of light blond hair and the other grasping at the heavy and somewhat oversized blue coat that he has on. 

Kenny turns his attention to the head of the circle, directly across from where they sit on the floor. “This is Tricia, everyone's favourite Tucker.” As the only girl, she stands out amongst the guys- she looks younger too, probably a year or two older than Ike. She must be Craig’s younger sister or maybe a cousin if she’s also a Tucker, but with their contrast in skin tone and hair colour he’d never have guessed they were related without being told so. He suspects one of them was adopted, much like his own brother. 

Kenny nearly skips over Cartman completely, placing his hands on his hips and fighting back a smile at Cartman’s deadly, but clearly ineffective glare at Kenny. “Fine, fine! This is Eric Cartman, he’s very nice and I hope you get along super well!” Kenny’s hushing his grumbling before he even has the chance to start, sweeping past for the sake of peace.

“Last but not least, we have the one and only Butters!”

His arms sweep open, gesturing to Butters on the floor beside him as if he’s the winning prize of the show. Butters sit wrapped up on the floor, his legs folded with a fleece blanket layered over his shoulders and tucked under his knees. “Hiya Kyle! I’m happy you're here.” One of his fingers picks at the scar that runs through his left eye, in what Kyle assumes is a nervous gesture.

After watching the other introductions in silence, Kyle almost doesn’t notice that he now has to speak and for a second, it's hard to get his voice to work with everyone’s eyes trained on him and red flashing through his head.

“Oh, hey Butters. Yeah, we’re happy to be here too.” 

He ignores the guilt that trickles in from the half lie and he forces a weak smile. He’s glad that Butters is here and though they’d never been close, or even talked all that much at school, his presence is still incredibly reassuring. Afterall, it’s hard not to like Butters, with his consistent positive outlook and his kindness to everyone, even when unwarranted. 

“You two seem familiar.” Cartman’s words are disguised behind a sneer but he can clearly hear the question in them too. Kenny and Stan look at them curiously too and for a moment Kyle forgets that he and Butters had been the only two left at school in South Park. 

“Well, yeah, me and Kyle go to- went to, the same school.”

With that point, Kyle realises something that had been bothering him since he’d entered the base. With a somewhat shaky voice he asks “How did you guys meet? The group I mean. And how long have you been camped here?” Though it’s an obvious question, his mind has been racing so fast just to keep up and register what’s being said, let alone think and speak.

Stan pipes up, telling him, “We’ve been here for awhile actually. A few months at least.” He leans back in his seat to look down at Kyle for a less severe angle and Kenny nods along, sitting down at last. 

“We just kinda... found each other? Craig, Tweek and Kenny came from Denver and on their way back here they found me stuck in the back room of a gas station. Here we rescued Butters and Cartman.”

He tugs his hat further over his ears with a grin. “And now we’ve found you and Ike.” Kyle goes to offer him a thankful smile in return when Cartman scoffs across from them. “You didn’t save us Marsh, as if.” His arms are crossed over his potbelly, his brown eyes narrowed in Stan’s direction. 

Stan rolls his eyes and leans forward in his seat, sharing a glance with Kenny whose smirking under his reinstated hood. “Uh huh, of course. Not like we found you crying in a stall after a rotter caught you with your pants down, right? Nah of course not.” He puts on a voice that drips with sarcasm and raises his brow in a display of disbelief.

Kenny’s grin grows ear to ear as Cartman splutters in indignation, his face heating to an unfortunate tomato hue and even Craig and Tweek fall quiet for a moment to look over. Despite the pit in his chest, a nervous giggle works its way up Kyle’s throat and he bites his lips to keep it from escaping. 

Just as the moment begins to shift from funny and lighthearted to awkward and strained, Butters pipes up. “Aw Eric, it wasn’t your fault that you forgot to take your weapon with you and lock the door like I’d reminded you over and over again.”

Though he’d been close to mentally chastising Butters for his ever insistent compassion, Kyle can’t help but blink in surprise at Butters condescending tone. He’s glad Butters seems to have grown a backbone since they were kids.

As they lapse into silence, the weight against Kyle’s shoulder shifts and he looks down to find Ike has drifted off, his body slumped against Kyle’s. Despite the time, Kyle’s not at all surprised that Ike has fallen asleep. His own heart has only managed to slow to a normal pace within the last twenty minutes or so and his every other breath still continues to catch with grief. They’re exhausted. 

“I know it's early but is there somewhere Ike can lay down? It’s been a, uh, really long day.” He feels guilty as he asks, guilty for imposing, for downplaying his parents d- his parents- today. But neither Stan or Kenny seem to mind or pick up on his hesitance. “Yeah, of course! We have five tents, and I’m sure Stan wouldn’t mind sharing his.” Kenny volunteers, before sheepishly looking to Stan for confirmation, who greets his gaze with a firm nod and smile. “Yep, I can show you the way right now."

A gentle shake to Ike's shoulder just lolls his head, but with a second harder shake he murmurs awake. Kyle makes a face as he realises Ike had been drooling on him, hefting the boy to his feet with more force than possibly necessary. “C'mon dude, lets go lie down."

Stan unzips the door and leads them from the tent, out past the improvised fire pit and to the tent on the opposite side of the semicircle. It’s one of the smaller ones, best fit for only two people, but as they climb inside, Kyle finds that without bedrolls or an air mattress they can easily fit Ike into the corner and swaddle him in blankets. He’s back out almost immediately.

"If you wanna stay in here with Ike I can get you for dinner? It won't be for an hour or two and it's kinda shit but at least it's something." He stops, and Kyle looks up to where he's awkwardly bent by the low roof. "I'll be around camp if you need anything, but if you can't find me Kenny, Butters, anyone will be happy to help you. Well, maybe not Cartman. Or Craig. But we'll be around so don't worry." He clears his throat, his breath visible in the low torchlight that creeps through the tents open door. "Okay. I'll see you later then."

He ducks out of the tent quickly and as Kyle hears the zip close behind him, he falls into darkness. 

All the emotions that he'd buried deep in his chest throughout the day suddenly surge into his throat and Kyle finds himself unable to breathe. His eyes sting, every time he closes them images of blood, hair and gore take form- her eyes bulging, his teeth black with her blood. Rivers of blood and the smell of copper. Every sight, smell and emotion is stamped into his vision, moments playing over and over again. As the day washes over him, his body shakes with grief, teeth clamped to try stop the sound of his cries, nails digging into the skin of his palms, each tear burning erosions down his face, his throat blistering, body cold. 

He curls up on the hard ground beside his little brother, the cold air prickling his skin and eyes as he watches over him.


	6. Chapter 6

He didn’t know he’d fallen asleep until he woke with a start. Ike no longer lies beside him and blankets cover him that weren’t there before. 

His heart’s a crescendo of thudding beats within his chest and he lies down on his back, breathing in and out, again and again, counting to five and ten and fifty, until his pulse slows to a steady thump. With a sigh he rubs away the tears that have dried on his cheeks from where they’d tracked down his face the night before and he pushes his fists into his eyes until he sees spots.

He sits back up slowly, his body aching from his night spent on the hard gym floor. Light creeps through the top of the tent door that hasn’t been zipped completely and illuminates the small room green. His hat has slid from his head, leaving ginger curls falling into his eyes and tickling his cheeks.

He finds his ushanka and tugs it on with numb fingers. He fumbles with the zip, sunlight straining his eyes as he pulls it open.

The camp is lively, at least far more so than it had been yesterday. From where he stands in the mouth of the tent, he can see everyone go about their day, bustling along in their chores.

On the other side of the circle, through the open flap he can see Kenny sitting in the communal tent, going through the contents of a hiking pack. He’s marking items off on his fingers, looking over every item to make sure he’s not missing anything on his mental checklist. Butters sits beside him, also doing some type of inventory, sorting through a first aid kit with a concerned look on his face. He elbows Kenny as he asks him something Kyle can’t hear, frowns passing over both of their faces.

A blur of movement catches Kyle's attention, as a blonde boy makes his way to the fire pit, carrying a box and struggling with it somewhat. Setting the box down, he pulls out multiple packets of ramen, ripping open each pack to pour into a large pot. His hands are wrecked with tremors that leave him fumbling with the packets, occasionally spilling noodles over the side of the pot. Kyle recognises him from last night, but struggles to remember his name. 

In a seat nearby sits the still somehow familiar Craig, baseball bat propped up between his knees. Eyebrows knitted together in concentration, he carefully beats more nails into the body of the bat, until the rusted metal sticks from the other side. He places each nail deliberately, making sure that they’re equal parts away from each other, taking care that there will be enough room for the nails to point through on the other side.

On the other side of the firepit, Cartman also sits in a surrounding chair. His hat has been brought over his eyes, hands clutched together over his stomach in yellow knitted gloves. His chest rises and falls in an even rhythm, looking oddly comfortable as he naps in the thin camping chair.

Finally he finds who he’d been looking for, spotting Ike from the corner of his eye. He's sitting by a small red tent with a bowl in his hand, talking to the girl… Tricia- who looks only partially interested in the conversation, her eyes occasionally flicking between him and her book. Ike of course, does not mind and chats away happily, picking at what Kyle assumes is cereal in his bowl.

Even from here Kyle can see his eyes are bloodshot, his cheeks rubbed raw and red.

He’s about to go over when he catches sight of Stan by the gym doors, his shearling jacket discarded and tshirt stained with sweat despite the otherwise chilly temperature. He’s reaching upwards to install another tin can wind chime, arms straining as he stretches. Kyle glances between the two black haired boys, attempting to decide who to approach first. The internal argument wins out with a final glance to Ike and Kyle’s content in his decision, sure that Ike will be alright for five more minutes.

Only Craig notices him as he walks past and he pretends not to anyway, looking down to his smaller companion in an effort to act like Kyle’s not there. Though Stan doesn’t notice him immediately, when he clears his throat Stan turns to him with an annoyed expression- one that instantly brightens upon spotting Kyle.

“Oh hey man! Sorry, I thought you were Cartman for a second.”

Kyle screws his face up at the suggestion and ignores the itch in his throat. “Hey dude. Uh,” His sentence drops off as Kyle realises that he has no idea what to say to Stan or how to make any small talk, his three months of seclusion with his relatively quiet family leaving him somewhat momentarily stunted in the pleasantries department. 

Stan doesn’t seem to mind however, returning to his work with half attention. “You alright? I’m sorry I didn’t wake you guys up last night, you seemed like you needed the sleep.” The cans rattle against each other as Stan struggles with the string holding them together. “No it’s okay. I’m sorry for sleeping in- I think. Uh, what is the time actually?”

Stan relaxes back down and gives Kyle a shrug. “I’m not actually sure, I just judge shit by how bright it is. But I’m pretty sure Cartman or Butters have a watch if you wanna ask one of them.” He notices Kyle’s immediate reluctance, waving the suggestion off.

“Actually don’t worry about it, it's not like it really matters anymore. You’re before noon at least. Wait, hang on one sec,”

He quickly checks the alarm is in place, giving it a hard tug to determine its sturdiness. It stays in place and Stan heaves a sigh of relief, leaning past him to grab his jacket. He pulls it over his shoulders as he straightens back up. 

“Okay, all done. It’s the worst job I swear, these things are almost more trouble than they’re worth.”

Kyle offers him a sympathetic smile and shrug, not entirely sure what the weird chimes purpose really is but not curious enough to ask. They start walking back, eyes skimming over the collection of tents as they approach. 

Kyle can’t help but shift his gaze to Stan as they walk, in what he hopes is a subtle manner. Stan’s eyes are lighter in the warm glow of the sun, the usually dark blue lightened to a richer shade, stark against his tan skin. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, he looks happier and brighter than Kyle ever remembers him as a kid. He’s glad that Stan’s doing alright despite everything- he’s glad he’s back with Stan after all of this.

His own observations cause him to flush in embarrassment, the sentiment, relief and care he already finds himself feeling again, a bit too strong for his liking. He drops his eyes to the floor and tries to ignore the flush of shame and guilt that works its way up his neck. 

“It looks like someone’s hit it off. I’m honestly impressed, Tricia’s definitely the scarier of the two Tuckers.”

Stan’s voice startles him slightly, causing Kyle to jump as he flicks his eyes up to where Stan is looking. Ike sits in the same place with his legs stretched out in front of him. He’s managed to get Tricia talking and he nods along to whatever it is she’s saying. Unlike Stan, Kyle is not surprised in the slightest. Ike’s always been an easy going kid- he makes friends impossibly easy.

“That’s Ike alright. I don’t know how he does it.” He says, pride for his brother managing to bring a slight smile to his face. Stan hides a proud smile at cheering up Kyle behind his hands, rubbing them together as their short walk comes to an end and the cold air catches up to him. “Must be that Canadian charisma.”

He turns to Kyle as they stop just outside the semi circle. “You must be pretty hungry, we can grab something to eat if you want?” Though he hadn’t noticed it two seconds ago, now that it’s been mentioned his stomach cramps in a painful protest. He hasn’t eaten for technically two days now, his last meal of beans, nuts, white rice and soy sauce was eaten with his parents and brother in the safety of their basement when they were all alive and okay.

Kyle nods at Stan, slightly turning away when Stan replies, so he can squeeze his eyes shut until the burn goes away. “Sweet, we can do that now. We don’t _usually_ do breakfast or lunch around here since there’s not a lot of food, but it was my fault that you guys missed out on dinner. Also, we needed to give Ike something to stop his complaining.” 

Kyle almost gives himself whiplash as he looks back up to Stan, his brows pulling together in concern. “Thank you so much but I really hope he wasn’t annoying you guys? I’ll tell him to shut up.” 

For a second he worries that Ike has been making such a fuss that the group will change their minds and kick them, but Stan’s face just as quickly eases it away. “No no no, don’t worry about it- it was funny, he’s hard not to like.”

Stan looks away from him to the makeshift camp and Kyle follows his gaze. He can still spot the others going about their business, mostly in the same spots that he’d seen them in a minute ago. Beside him Stan pulls his coat closed, grabbing gloves from his pocket and tugging them onto his hands.

“Okay so this’ll be short and sweet. Over there is Craig and Tweek’s tent, there’s Kenny and Butters, then Cartman’s and ours and that one is Tricia’s.” Kyle can faintly see Stan’s breath in the air and his gloved hands wave around as he gestures to different spots as he speaks. “We use that one for meetings and hanging out, it’s also where we keep the food and other important shit. You probably remember but the bathrooms are out the gym and down the hall, so we usually buddy up when we go.”

He takes a breath, looking to Kyle in hopes that he managed to keep up. “I know it’s not much and it’s certainly not comfy, but it’s still way better than when we were holed up in the Church. I honestly don’t think my back will ever recover from sleeping on the pews.” 

Kyle glances from the camp and to Stan in surprise- he hadn’t really thought about it, but he’d assume they’d been staying here since they reached South Park. Though he supposes it does make more sense, Stan had said they’d only been here for a couple of months.

“You stayed in the church?” he asks and Stan fixes him a look, as if he were deciding what the right words were to use. He seems to give up after a moment, sighing and shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, for almost two months. It was uncomfortable as shit but we had a bunch of supplies and it was all fortified and everything- well, better than we’ve done here anyway. Uh,’

He stops for a moment, his mouth pulling to the side.

“There were more of us too. Jimmy, Scott, Rebecca, Liane and it’s kinda fucked up but there were some other guys whose names I can’t even remember... And Karen too.”

“Kenny’s little sister?”

“Yeah. But a bunch of rotters managed to break in through the back, tore the place apart. It was really rough. She uh, she didn’t make it.”

Though Kyle can’t really picture Karen or recall her well, he definitely remembers how much Kenny cared for her, how he’d been far more of a parent to her than their own... Fuck. He hadn’t even thought about other people’s family- or lack of. Kenny’s little sister... God, he feels horrible. Of course he and Ike weren’t the only ones to lose people. His mot-

He turns to Stan before the images flash too bright, quickly shaking them out of his head. “Dude that’s horrible, Stan, I’m so sorry.” Kyle knows they both heard his voice catch, but thankfully Stan doesn’t mention it. Instead, he looks to the ground with a sad shrug, saying “Yeah it was really shit. Kenny took it hard, obviously. But he’s doing better now, taking each day as they come, type thing. I wouldn’t mention it to him though.”

Kyle nods slightly, his own fresh grief and concern for his newly reacquainted friends making his chest ache. Stan swallows loudly, his eyes unfocusing as he remembers what happened. Kyle knows he probably shouldn’t have asked. Guilt swirls in his stomach and his brain rushes to find a way to fix the moment.

“So uh, why do you call them rotters?” He cringes the second the words leave his mouth, his hope of changing the subject to a lighter topic most likely immediately shot down by his stupid question. Stan’s head swivels to look at him in surprise, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Maybe he hadn’t messed up too bad.

“Ha, well, we’re not allowed to call them zombies, so Kenny tried to come up with another name for them. He tried biters, creepers, monsters and other stupid shit but no one could take it seriously so we ended up settling for rotters.” They start walking again and Stan laughs as he explains (Kyle figures it must be one of those ‘had to be there’ situations), and they duck into the communal tent as he finishes “It's not like we even know for sure if they are rotting or if they're just damaged- I mean, none of us are getting close enough to check anyway. So I guess it’s pretty stupid but it caught on alright.”

Kyle almost doesn’t hear the last part, as his attention flicks over to Ike before he steps inside. He hesitates, wanting to speak to Ike and make sure he’s going to be alright after yesterday, not having had the chance to yet causing worry to tingle up his spine. Yet at the same time, Ike is currently in the middle of a conversation with someone his age, which he hasn’t had for months, and his eyes are dry from tears- which Kyle knows their next conversation will be full of.

With that in mind, he steps the rest of the way into the tent, squinting as his eyes adjust to the lighting. With the tent's windows (he assumes permanently) left zipped, a small torch hangs from the middle to alight the room. He turns just in time to see Stan hitting his head on it as he shuffles past, dropping into a camping chair that buckles dangerously from the momentum. 

Kenny lounges in a chair across from him, his hands massaging his forehead in a dramatic display. Beside him Butters sits on the floor, his legs tucked under the coffee table still going through the med kit, inspecting every bottle closely and peering in to get a rough number of pills. He looks up for a second as they enter, flashing a smile when he sees Kyle hovering by the door, but just as quickly flicking his gaze back down to the kit and resuming his count.

Kyle follows Stan’s track around the table, his knees knocking into it painfully in the little space. “Actually I don’t really know much about the zombies.” He says, just give a reply after the delayed moment of silence. However as he answers he can feel both Kenny and Stan look over to him curiosity and even Butters spares him another glance.

Kenny has quirked eyebrows and a slight smile as he disbelievingly shakes his head at Kyle. “Uh, how?” He asks, his voice light and curious. Despite this, a pit has opened up in Kyle’s stomach and his mouth feels dry when he replies. “I haven’t- I don’t know. I haven’t seen many?”

“But… How?”

It’s not like it should be hard to answer and it’s definitely fair for him to ask. But as if on queue images of his father's red stained teeth, curling fingers and unsteady stance appear in his eyes. His throat constricts at the images of his mother's widened and frantic eyes and his mind scrambles to think of anything else. He can’t explain that to Kenny.

He clears his throat, the knowledge that a second of silence can turn into an hour of it, so he shrugs and forces a strained smile. Though his eyes have remained dry, they’d begun to slightly sting and with his friends questioning eyes on him, his pride refuses the urge to rub his face. “I haven’t really- I don’t know, does anyone know much about them?”

His voice is thankfully clear and free of any embarrassing wobbles, and Kenny immediately perks up at his answer. “Pfft, does anyone know much about them? You lucky bastard! How have you managed to avoid the beasties to not know shit about them?” Kenny laughs in disbelief and Kyle’s fake smile softly fades into a genuine one. Beside him Stan is stretching back in his seat and when Kenny once more doesn’t push Kyle for answers he’s not ready to give, he feels himself relax down also.


	7. Chapter 7

The cereal Stan had given him is stale and dry, the bowl cracked at the top and clearly not washed well. He’d finished it a few minutes ago, sliding the empty bowl onto the coffee table while he listened in on the conversation around him. The tent has fallen into a lull of silence for a moment, as Kenny finished up a story he was telling from back in Denver- before the virus.

Beside him Stan rocks himself back and forth with his foot, the chair buckling beneath him and looking concerningly close to folding inwards. His fingers pick at a black stain on his tan coat, his eyes trained on the flakes as they fall to the tent floor. 

Kenny heaves a sigh across from them, pulling the drawstrings of the equally orange hoodie he wears under his signature parka taunt around his face. In both arms of his sleeves he’s either cut or ripped small holes for his thumbs to poke through, preventing the sleeves from falling any further than the middle of his palms. Despite this, he tugs the sleeves of his hoodie further over his hands, until only the tips of his fingers are visible.

Butters has continued his count, though every few seconds his eyes flick around the tent nervously. Kyle wonders if this is a learned habit from before or after doomsday.

Stan breaks the lapse of silence with an awkward cough, his hand going to scratch his neck as he talks. “Right. I’ve mentioned it before but we really need to talk about moving and this is as good a time as ever.” As they all look at Stan, Kyle shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Moving? He just got here!

Kenny begins to sigh louder and it grows into a groan as he sinks down in his seat until his knees stick out over the table. “Dude where would we go? Like I agree with you but where else can we go?” He tugs his hood down before he speaks, his voice clear and free of the once familiar muffle. It’s a complete contrast from their childhood and Kyle wonders when Kenny stopped talking behind his hood- or started talking so much at all.

Stan holds up his hands in a placating gesture and nods before he speaks. “Ok and I thought about that! Remember Token’s house? It was a total mansion and we could fortify it and there’d be enough room for all of us! Plus dude, think about it; insulation, a real fireplace, actual showers!”

Kenny smooths his hands over his head and sandy blond tufts of hair stick between his fingers as his hodd falls to his shoulders. He pushes his cheeks up as he debates over what Stan said, taking a moment to think before he replies. “Yeah, sure, that could work. But it’s on the other side of town and there’s no guarantees that it’s accessible or even still standing!” 

From down on the floor, Butters speaks up. “And you know Craig really wouldn’t like it. He’d probably feel like we’re disrespecting Token if we stayed there.” He looks between Stan and Kenny with a frown, but offers Kyle a small smile as they catch each other's eye. 

Stan sits back in his seat with a huff, his finger tapping on the plastic arms of his chair. “If there's a perfect place for us to set camp, Craig can suck it up. We shouldn’t miss out just because he can’t get over himself.” Kenny blinks at him from where he's sunk even lower in his seat, his chin almost resting on his chest. “Ok dude. Just remember that we’re democracy dude and you _know_ Tweek and Tricia will back him up. We can’t stay somewhere if nearly half of us hate it.”

“Fine, it doesn’t matter where we go but we need to go somewhere.”

“Stan, it where we go is the _only_ thing that matters!”

They fall quiet at the same time, both of them looking away frustrated but not wanting to get into an argument. Stan quietly fumes and Kenny scratches his head in thought as Butters looks across to Kyle and chews his lips. “Well Stan’s right,” He says. “We do need to move. It’s too cold here and it’s only going to get colder and we’re running low on supplies and defenses. But we can’t pack up camp and try to move somewhere when we don’t know if it’s even safe. We just really need the whole group if we want to talk about this.” 

Kenny sighs as he watches Butters lift himself into a chair beside him and carefully lift his legs up beside his. “You’re right. We can have a meeting after dinner tonight and talk about it then.” He leans over in his seat until it wobbles dangerously so he can steal a glance at the watch on Butters wrist. “Bout time for you and Fucker to head off, Stan.”

Stan groans in his seat, rubbing his hands over his face. “Great, wish me luck.” 

He heaves himself to his feet, knocking Kenny’s feet to the floor as he walks past. He stops in the doorway, adjusting his hat as he turns back to look at Kyle. “I have to go out but I’ll be back before dinner. I’m really sorry to ditch you dude, but I’m sure Kenny and Butters will be happy to keep you occupied!” Stan flashes him a big smile and Kyle feels the building anxiety melt. “Right, see y'all soon.”

Stan disappears out of the tent door flaps and Kyle already feels the lack of his presence. 

  
  
  


He’d gone out to find Ike almost immediately, excusing himself from the somewhat awkward atmosphere that had creeped in after Stan left. They’d talked for the last few hours and as Kyle had expected, there were many tears- from both Kyle and Ike. They’d hidden themselves away in Stan’s tent to talk, though occasionally he could hear someone step nearby and from the outline of the silhouette that he can see through the thin tent walls, Kyle guesses that it’s Kenny checking up on them for whatever reason.

Ike is drying his eyes and his shoulders tremble a little, but he has a small smile from where Kyle had eventually made him laugh with a stupid joke about his oversized boots.

Though they’ve always been close, Kyle has never much felt like a big brother to Ike. Not since they were really young at least. Ike’s far too independent, smart and mature for that. But today, he definitely feels like Ike’s elder- he held him as they cried, held in his own sobs to not upset him further, talked him through what happened in a hopefully helpful way. Ike had asked him what will happen now, and Kyle can still feel the guilt reverbing through him from when he’d only been able to simply say “I don’t know. I guess we’ll stay with Stan and the group, they’ve been really nice to take us in.” He wishes he could’ve said more.

As they exit the tent they’d commandeered, Kyle smooths down his coat and prays that his face or eyes aren’t too red in case it’s obvious he’s been crying. Not that he thinks anyone would say anything or judge him too harshly, but he’s very aware of their new presence in the camp and what the others think of them.

There’s no one in the camp that he can see however and concern creases his brow as Ike climbs out of the tent behind him. He walks forward, skirting around the dying fire to the community tent and pushing inside, making sure Ike follows him close behind. To his relief Butters and Kenny are still inside and he loses the wild thoughts of the group ditching or just straight up leaving them to die.

They look up as Kyle and Ike enter and Kenny pulls back from where he’d been leant over near Butters chair. They both offer large smiles and Kyle notices how Butters left eye creases oddly from the faded white but still large and lumpy scar running through his brow and cheek. Kyle’s always wondered how much sight he has in the cloudy and occasionally lazy eye, but thought it’d be too offensive to ask.

“Hiya fellas!” he says, nudging Kenny away from where he’d leant back over to ruffle a hand through Butters slowly regrowing shaved hair. “Hey” “Hi” They respond in tandem, squeezing past the coffee table to grab a seat. Kenny looks between them and stifles a yawn before he speaks. “I hope you guys are okay. I came over a few times to make sure everything was alright but I didn’t want to interrupt you guys or eavesdrop.” 

“We’ll be okay, but we appreciate it Kenny.” He says lowering himself into one of the thin camping chairs. "I ho-" Scuffling from outside interrupts what Butters was going to say next and the tent shakes, shadows growing on the walls, muffled sounds escalating in volume. His heart picks up a pace as the blond boy from the day before, whose name still escapes him, appears at the mouth of the tent. His hair is wind swept and his eyes look wild, his boots making a squeaking sound on the gym floor as he skids to a halt. He starts forward as Kenny raises an eyebrow at his approach and moves to sit back down. "Jesus Tweek! What's got your knickers in a twist?" Kenny snorts, reminding Kyle of the previously forgotten name.

“We need to go! Ngh, they got into the halls!” Tweek's voice shakes, and he clutches his hands together in front of himself, the sleeves from his oversized coat sliding down his forearms. Kenny and Butters fly to their feet, and Kyle can feel himself do the same. They look downright panicked and Kyle shares a worried look with Ike. He can feel his heart rate steadily rise and his hands grow clammy and warm, but he still reaches for his brother's hand. 

“Ok. We all know what to do, so let’s go do it. Has anyone seen Cartman?” 

Kenny swears under his breath at the answering shaking heads, ducking through the entrance without so much as a glance back. Tweek chokes on his breath as he follows suit, leaving the tent and Kyle standing in confusion. Unsure what to do but feeling the severity of the situation, Kyle glances at the mouth of the tent and clutches Ike closer. His little brother is looking at him with a look between concern and downright fear, and Kyle struggles to not mirror it back to him. 

Butters voice snaps Kyle's eyes from the entrance, “Can you help me, please?” His voice is the most serious Kyle's ever heard him, the anxiety that he's clearly trying to mask making his voice raise to a higher pitch. He offers Butters a hesitant nod, a small movement but enough for him to give a sigh of relief. “Well okay then. We need to pack up the essentials in case we need to really leave, and we need to do it quickly. Gather those pill bottles up and I’ll do the rest.”

Despite his slightly shaky voice Butters still fixes him a serious look before he turns to move into the tent’s back room. Kyle nearly twists his ankle as he drops to collect up the bottles, his hands knocking into each other and sending bottles flying as he tries to help as Butters had instructed. Ike kneels down beside him, now somewhat and somehow calmer than him. They work together to pack up the large medkit, stuffing the bottles inside and zipping pouches closed. 

He’s not sure how long they take, the seemingly easy task made difficult by fumbling hands and quickening heartbeats. As Ike pulls the final zip closed, Butters returns to the main room with a hiking bag strapped to his back, full and nearly the same size as Butters himself. 

“Thank you. Alright, let’s go find the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter!! Sorry it’s so short!! I plan on writing more soon, so please leave the story some love so I can get some motivation!! ❤️❤️


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!! I went back and did a complete edit of all the previous chapters, adding, removing and rewriting content, so I would recommend a quick skim over if this is a new update for you!! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!!

Spare the rushing of blood in his ears and the audible heaving of his chest, the hall remains thick with a foreboding silence. They were huddled at the far end of the hall, Tweeks hand already set on the door handle, his other holding tightly to Tricia’s own. Butters was still clearing out the tents, grabbing different items from each and shoving them into the hiking bag that wasn’t clipped around his chest. 

He can feel Ike shake in his own unsteady arms, the duffle bag he’d be tasked to hold threatening to fall from his hands. He’d denied his earlier suggestion of setting it down on the floor, not wanting to somehow lose it in the sea of other bags at their feet. Kyle’s own bag, a backpack stuffed to the brink with various items from the tents, already causes his shoulders to ache from the weight. 

The late September air pushes through the broken gymnasium window, leaving the tips of his fingers red and his toes numb in his boots. He shifts from foot to foot, slightly jostling Ike in his arms. He looks to Tweek, about to ask what they should do as a **BANG** resonates through the hall.

The doors at the other end of the gym have burst open, Stan, Kenny and Cartman bursting through and running towards them at full speed. Their feet fall loudly on the gym floor, their shoes squeaking against the rubber, their panicked faces matching their loud gasping breaths and heaving chests.

Their halfway through the hall when a body thuds against the gym doors, its head crunching against the frame with the violent impact. She stumbles forward before quickening her pace, rushing towards them as fast as she can on damaged legs. Another thud and another, as body after body erupts through the door, each one more decomposed or disfigured than the last.

Guts spill from the swollen stomach of one man, dark wine coloured intestines swinging down to the ground, nearly tripping him as he staggers forward. The arm of another man is missing completely, half the green of his torn shirt now a dark red, as it flutters over the missing side of his torso and shoulder. The woman closest seems to be quicker than the rest, her knees knocking together in an awkward slow run. She’s tall and hollow cheeked, with thin long hair that sticks to the discoloured saliva running rivets down her chin. Her spindly hands are covered in a thick crust of brown dried blood, a breathless wail pouring from her hanging jaw. 

A burst of fridgid air causes him to drag his eyes away, lightly placing a hand on the side of Ike’s face to similarly turn him from the sight of steadily approaching corpses. He looks to the door that Tweek has pulled open, shuffling them closer to the cold breath of freedom. Light shines through the doors, the sun reflecting off patches of snow and droplets of water, his eyes darting back and forth between inside and outside the gym as he shuffles into the doorway.

As the others running attempt to quicken their pace, Stan drops back beside the much slower Cartman, firing a shot into the nearest one's chest, knocking her down with a ear piercing shriek and causing chunks of her pale flesh to go flying. She writhes on the ground, arms weakly scraping the floor in an impossible attempt to pull herself back up, not quite dead but giving them enough time and space to run from the rest of the pack.

As they rush to catch up, the rest of the group skid to a halt, ladening themselves with the bags. They grab two to three each and quickly arrange them on their backs, fronts and arms, Butters throwing the tent he’d just packed to Kenny, who catches it smoothly. Within the flurry of movement is Tweek, frantically looking between them, his voice cracking.

“Where’s Craig? Kenny, where's Craig? Oh god. WHere is he?!”

The group starts to hasten their move outside, Cartman shoving Kyle and Ike into the doorframe as he shoulders his way outside. Tricia tugs Tweek out the doors as he begs for a reply, Kenny attempting to answer through the handle of a knife stuck between his teeth as he loads up with more bags. Stan fires a few more stray shots into the crowd in an attempt to pick off the closest one’s, causing Butters to grab his ears in pain as he ushers them outside. The sight of the first woman that Stan had shot, the remaining pieces of her chest to the floor as she drags herself forward on broken nails, a trail of flesh and bone behind her, is the last thing Kyle sees before he’s shoved outside.   
  


Stan shoves a metal bar through the handles of the rattling gym door, the drawn out groans and occasional screams blocked out by the heavy doors. His breath comes out in short pants and Kyle can see the shake in his grip on the shotgun. His shoulders drop in what he guesses is a mix of both relief and defeat. Stan continues to stare down the door, making sure it won’t buckle, in a quick moment of both tension and respite.

They stand in a semi circle just outside the doors, the ground covered in a thin layer of ice that curls up around their ankles as it melts under the late September sun. The wind bites through their clothes, howling past the building and rattling the low chain link fence, scattering leaves and sticks onto the concrete path.

Ike stands beside him, clutching the duffle bag like it’s a lifeline and Kyle can feel his shoulders shake under his arm. He pulls his arm around Ike just a little tighter, ignoring his own heart pounding in his chest and his weak, unsteady knees. 

“Kenny where the fuck is he?! STan? P-please don’t tell me…” Tweeks voice painfully rasps at the start of each questioning plea and despite not knowing him, Kyle can feel his own heart fill with panic alongside Tweeks own.

Kenny spits the knife onto the ground, handing a bag back to Cartman to free up his hands. Kyle watches him as he gently places his hands on the sides of Tweeks shoulders, subtly bending his knees so he can make eye contact, looking between him and Tricia. “Listen,” he says “He’s okay. He’ll meet back up with us behind the community center.” 

Tweeks escalating breathing doesn’t slow, but it does stop rising. “Oh god! AH, oh god” he whisper cries, looking lost for any other words. Kyle can see his hands trembling from a meter away and they continue to twitch upwards towards his hair before he brings them back down, again and again. Tricia bats one of Kenny’s hands from his arm, hissing loudly “Why the fuck did you leave him? He could be swarmed right now for all we know, how the fuck could you abandon him?”

Kenny takes a step back with a sigh, his eyes flicking to where Butters stands a few meters away keeping watch of the chain link fence. “I didn’t want to alright? He was blocked off by rotters, he couldn’t get through.” Kenny sounds worried and remorseful, guilt clearly displayed on his face. He tries to start apologising when Stan steps forward. 

“It was my fault okay? Not Kenny’s. I didn’t close off the doors right and they got between us. But I watched him go out the front and I don’t think any rotters were following him. He’ll be fine, he has his bat and day pack and he knows his way around. I promise.” Stan’s face slightly screws at his own weak promise but he doesn’t amend it, believing enough in Craig’s ability to survive to keep his claim.

Tricia eyebrows furrow tightly inwards, her foot hitting the ground with an icy crunch as she brings it down in a frustrated stomp. “He better fucking be.” Her voice rises slightly hysterically as she continues. “If he’s not it’s on you Marsh. It’s fucking on you.” She swallows loudly, sending Stan the scariest glare Kyle’s ever seen, let alone from a preteen ginger girl.

She turns away from them, pulling Tweek around with her, and Kenny sighs deeply- something Kyle has noticed is a common habit for him. Kenny leans down to scoop up the knife he’d dropped, scoffing at Cartmen when he attempts to give him the bag back despite his own heavy load next to Cartman’s light one. 

Kenny sweeps his eyes across the group before he talks, pausing for a moment on each of them. “We need to go find Craig, then we can make plans. As we’ve discussed, we move in a line and we move in twos. Be quiet and keep an eye out. Let’s go.”

With one last sigh, he moves upto Butters, vaulting over the fence with his knife once more between his teeth. He helps Butters climb over, the large hiking pack making it difficult. As Tweek and Tricia follow suit, Stan steps next to Kyle and Ike, giving them a weak smile. 

“Hey guys. You can go infront of me and Cartman, and don’t worry we’ll keep an eye on you.” He drops his head slightly, the smile falling from his lips. “I’m really sorry about all this. You just arrived and-” He’s interrupted by Kenny’s shushing and Stan gives a frustrated exhale. “Time to go.” He says instead.

Kyle struggles over the fence, taking longer than anyone else, weak knees and shaking hands making the small climb exceptionally difficult. Embarrassingly, after Ike hands the bag back to Stan, he easily vaults over the fence, his years of various different sports making him fit and fast. At least waiting for Cartman to climb over ridiculously makes Kyle feel somehow better, despite the fact that it definitely should not.

After an almost ten minute delay they are able to really go, the battering of the gym door behind them putting speed in their steps. Kyle doesn’t remember the community center being far and with Kenny at the front setting a quick pace that leaves those on the shorter side of the group stumbling to maintain, he thinks they’ll get there soon.

The wind still howls between them, catching the bottom of his coat and the earflaps of his hat and tugging them with it as it rips past. The grass is hard and crunchy beneath his feet, and Kyle is surprised to see small patches of snow tucked in spots of shade. Ike shivers beside him, reverberating through their link arms like electricity and Kyle’s mind shifts to images of his little brother frozen to death. Ice dripping from his nose and red eyes preserved open.

He knows of course that they're the luckiest pair in the apocalypse. They managed to avoid the first five months of it and after that they were immediately rescued by old friends who’re more than willing to take them in as if they’d always been there. He has no idea, nor wants to even _think_ about where he and Ike would be if Stan hadn't found them and let them into the group. But he can’t help but feel slightly bitter that things already seem to be going terribly as soon they show up. They barely stayed a day before the place was overrun and they were forced to escape. And where or what they’re going to do now is a mystery.

He’s going to get whiplash if he continues thinking about the last two days of their life.

He nearly walks into the back of Tweek and Tricia, who have stopped abruptly at Kenny’s silent command. Leaning forward to look over Tweeks head, Kyle finds that they’ve come to a small road that lies a little in front of the community center. Kenny and Butters are scanning the road for any signs of life, weapons in hand. They hesitantly step forward, once… twice… before scuttling across the road. A few trees and a stray broken down car giving them cover, they motion for the group to follow to the other side. Two by two they make their way over quickly, though a slight clinking from Tricia’s pack and the heavy footfalls of Cartman causes them to painfully hold their breath. But the road remains dead and the group carries on it’s way.

The faded color of the community center has come into sight and they lead themselves to the back, making a wide berth around the car park. The few trees around have lost all their leaves, leaving the ground littered in mold and stray sticks. As they make their way into the center's shadow, snow and ice begin to crunch more loudly under foot and Kyle can feel himself cringe every time his foot lands in a particularly fresh patch of snow.

They make their way to the middle of the back wall, a few of them leaning against the surface as looking out for any signs of life. Kyle swallows and tries to calm his racing heart, arranging him and Ike beside Stan against the wall in an effort to at least keep their back safe. He sees Tweek glance up to the roof, carefully stepping closer to Tricia.

"Are you okay?" Stan whispers next to him, the rustling trees and his thumping pulse making it hard to hear. Not entirely sure on his ability to speak without his voice wobbling, he nods back. Stan lays a hand on his shoulder, causing warmth to seep through Kyle's coat, leaving him a little less breathless. Across from them Cartman makes a face, a mixture of a smirk and grimace. Kyle pretends not to notice.

After a moment of surveying the space and catching their breath, the pat pat pat of someone coming towards them reaches their ears. They whip towards the sound and the group raises their weapons just in case, Kyle squeezing Ike’s arm tighter in absence of any other option. Craig jogs around the corner, barbed bat in hand, a fire axe in the other. He drops both as soon as he gets near and they make small thuds as they impact with the earth. His grasp is immediately replaced with Tweek and Tricia, who he hugs tightly to his waist. 

It’s an almost odd sight and Kyle finds himself nearly feeling like he should look away, the tight squeeze of the embrace feeling private and personal. As Tricia pulls away to wack Craig’s arm not at all lightly, Tweek curiously stays, his face and hand buried in the other's jacket. He's shaking like a leaf about to be blown away by a storm, his breath short and his boots digging into the earth until he's standing on his toes, pushing his head and shoulders into Craig's body. No one speaks during the intimate exchange and Kyle wonders if that's because they're as surprised as he is or because they're used to. Craig looks up and notices the eyes on them, removing one of his hands from the blonds back and using it to flip off the rest of the group. He ducks his head down at an odd angle to whisper to Tweek, his words carried away by the wind before it can reach the ears of anyone else. When Tweek finally looks up he places a tentative hand on the side of his face, his touch exceedingly gentle, an strange gesture for what Kyle sees as a stone faced guy. 

Tweek takes a moment to gather himself up before he sucks in a deep breath and reluctantly pulls himself from Craig's grasp. He steps back before slamming a fist into Craig’s chest with a thud, his bitten down nails digging into his fist with the force, though it seems much to his chagrin Craig is completely unaffected. “Asshole!” he exclaims. With Tweek moved slightly back (though still hovering close) Kyle can now see Craig fully. A dark blood splatter paints the left leg of his jeans and a disturbing mix of red and green are mashed into the canvas of his shoes. Laying on the ground nearby, equally dark gore stains his bat, chunks of flesh and what he thinks may be a piece of scalp and hair. It makes Kyle feel sick.

Craig lifts his gaze from Tweek and over his head to the rest of the group, earning him a glare and looks of muted amusement. “What now?”


	9. Chapter 9

Cartman flails his arms wildly. 

“Why can’t we just go back?” He asks. The group has huddled up into a tight circle, holding their discussion in low whispers and murmurs. As his voice raises Butters shushes him impatiently.

“Because, you stupid fat fuck” Craig snaps, “I just fucking told you why! At least twenty fucking rotters got in! There’s no way we can clear them out without someone getting bit, and I don’t fucking see you volenteering.” Craig has an angry, incredulous look on his face as he swears out Cartman, as if he can’t believe he has to explain again. 

But Cartman doesn’t budge, ignoring Butters completely to try and argue with Craig. “Of course not, I’m not fucking retarded! Why don’t we make a distraction and draw them out or something? Just because you're a frickin’ pansy doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t want our shit back!” His eyebrows are pulled tight and his face is burning bright red- he looks the angriest Kyle’s seen _anyone_ look in years.

Before Craig can reply with narrowed eyes and a dangerous scowl, Kenny steps in, his hands held out and voice lowered in a placating manner. “Let’s just cool it okay? If you want to go in and push past the rotters to get you stuff Cartman, go right ahead. But the rest of us need to decide where we're going next. Obviously the school is out of the question, right Craigory?”

He receives a glare for the nickname and Cartman huffs loudly, almost vibrating on the spot with rage. “Right. I closed the door but I didn’t lock it in case any of you got trapped and needed to escape out the front.” 

Kenny nods along as he speaks. “Okay, doesn’t help us now but I’m sure we would’ve appreciated it if we needed it. So we need to work out where to go and we should do it before it gets dark. Any ideas?” He looks almost directly at Stan for a moment, before he shifts his gaze back ahead to watch behind Cartman and Butters back in case anything emerges from the trees.

“I know some of you won’t like this but Token’s house could be perfect.”

“Fuck no!”

Stan huffs a breath in frustration, Craig’s immediate refusal causing him to pinch his nose and squeeze his eyes shut. “Listen dude, it’s the only option we’ve got, I mean where else are we supposed to go?” He looks Craig in the eye as he continues. “He had a backup generator right? And their own water tank? We need that and Token would want us to use it if he’s not.”

Craig shakes his head and beside him Tweek squeaks “What if they’re there? AH or his families there? What if they’re turned?” Craig backs him up immediately. “Exactly! And if he’s not there, I’m not living in my dead friends house! That’s fucked up.”

Stan looks to Kenny and Butters for help, while Craig angrily attempts to kick off the chunk of scalp from his bat. Kyle symphaises with them both. He can’t imagine having to make the choice to live in or loot through a close friends house, not knowing if they’re alive or dead or okay. But at the same time, it seems to be their only option and if it comes down to it, Kyle will take Ike and go there without the group if it means safety. 

“Listen, Craig, you’re right- that is fucked up. But I don’t know what other option we have here.” Kenny’s voice is still in pacify mode, light and slow without being condescending. They look at each other for ten long seconds, speaking silently to each other as they stare. Everyone holds their breath in tense anticipation and as they watch the exchange, Kyle’s eyes flicker to the slight bit of movement at Craigs side. Beside him Tweek has slotted his small hand into Craig’s, giving it a squeeze. 

Craig’s shoulders drop and he rolls his neck until it gives four loud pops. As he shifts, their hands disappear into his jacket pocket and Tweek’s brought even closer to his side. “Fine. Token’s house it is. We’re all going to fucking hell anyway.” He grumbles and Tricia pats his arm.

“We should go to the pharmacy, before we get there. It can’t be completely empty.”

“Good idea Buttercup. I actually have a list of some stuff we need and while we’re on the way-”

As the discussion continues, Kyle feels himself slowly zone out. He watches as Cartman rummages through his bag, either in an attempt to look busy and hide his face or to try and search for whatever was left behind. Despite himself, Kyle feels a flash of sympathy wash over him as he sees the tears gathered in his eyes. But Cartman doesn’t deserve his sympathy or probably even want it, so he looks away. 

After making a plan and better distributing the bags so that most people have their hands free, the group arms up in preparation to go. Cartman grabs the fire axe that Craig had dropped, his eyes now dry and glaring at anyone who dares look at him. Kenny, with both hands now free, tucks the knife into his boot before checking the safety and stuffing a glock into his pants. He draws a large machete from one of the bags, testing its weight in his hand. Craig and Tweek have a bat and crowbar respectively and Butters clutches onto a mechanics hammer. Even Tricia has a kitchen knife. It’s impressively intimidating.

“Everyone ready to go?” Kenny asks, looking over the group, frowning. “This isn’t going to be easy. Everyone needs to be on the lookout at all times and be as quiet as possible. I don’t want any of you getting hurt.” He trips over ‘hurt’, stuttering over a K and B, before he chose the right word. With silence as his reply, he turns away sadly. “Alright, let’s go then.”

Butters falls into step beside him and Cartman follows dejected after, sending wishful sad looks over his shoulder towards the school. As Kyle starts to follow, Stan replaces the hand on Kyle’s shoulder, stopping him mid step. “Hey uh, I know this is really hard and I’m so, so sorry that this has happened right when you arrived.” He looks around nervously, reaching up his spare hand to his neck. “I don’t know what your life was like before we found you but um,” to Kyle’s surprise, a light shade of red blooms in Stan’s cheeks and his eyeshift to the side to avoid eye contact, “I’ve been watching you and you seem, I don’t know, confused? Scared and confused. So I don’t know if this will help but-”

Stan drops to his knee and for an embarrassing moment, images of a box and ring come to mind. When Stan looks back at Kyle, the red flush has traded places from Stan’s face to his own, though he’s sure with his deathly pale complexion the blush is bright and obvious on his cheeks. He sees Stan try to hide a smile as he gets to his feet, and Kyle prays to Jesus, Buddha and Allah that his face will stop burning soon. 

“Here. I know it’s not great but at least it’s something to protect yourself with.” He holds out to Kyle and Ike (who’d been pretending not to listen up till this point), a wrench and screwdriver. “I hope you don’t have to use them, but if you do try to aim for the eyes. You can generally get through to the brain that way.”

Kyle hesitantly takes the wrench with a smile, grateful but afraid what it might mean. Ike snatches the screwdriver from Stan’s hand with much more vigor than his brother, grinning widely up at him and showing off the gap between his two front teeth. “Thank you Stan.” Kyle whispers, hoping that he understands how much he really does appreciate him. Only Stan thought to give them something to defend themselves with, asked him if he’s okay and brought a smile to Ike’s face. 

Stan pats the top of his head, fingers brushing his hair where it curls over the sides of his hat. “No problem dude.” he says with a light smile. Kyle’s blush ignites.

They catch up to the others quickly, Ike untangling his arm from Kyle’s own to walk beside Tricia. Kyle feels a pang of anxiety ring through his heart as soon as the contact is lost, as if not touching Ike means he’ll instantly be gobbled up by some rotter that’d been hiding in the shadows waiting for this exact moment. No such thing happens however, and Stan offers him a look of sympathy as Kyle keeps a hawk's eye watch on his little brother. 

“I’m watching out for him Kyle, don’t worry. Anyway, it’s really good for Tricia to have a friend, she really needs it.” He gives Stan a tentative smile back. He’s right of course, Ike really needs this too. And even as the anxiety remains, Kyle manages to look away from Ike enough to look where they’re going. 

They’d just crossed the field behind the community center, leaving the shade and scattering of trees behind. They’ve come to the main road and stand across from the police station, waiting for Kenny and Butters to cross like they had last time. The road is littered with cars, some crashed and others with the windows broken in. They look both ways before they cross, reminding Kyle of when they were younger and Stan would make him hold his hand before they crossed. After Kenny and Butters dart across, Cartman follows suit. As Craig and Tweek begin jogging across, fear shoots up Kyle’s chest. It’ll be Ike and Tricia’s turn next.

Of course there’s little that can go wrong crossing the road, especially now. There’s no cars that can barrel down the road, no drunk drivers or drivers on their phones. There’s most likely no rotters, or at least none that could reach the pair in their five second sprint. The whole thing is just a precaution, a just in case the worst happens. And it won’t, the worst won’t happen. 

By the time Kyle’s stopped running circles of self reassurance around his head, Ike and Tricia are nearly halfway across, weapons clutched in their hands. They make their way across safely, just as Kyle had told himself. He has no real concerns of himself and Stan crossing the road now that it’s their turn to cross. 

When they make it to the other side Kyle leans against the cool brick of the police station, the firm surface against his back grounding him and easing some of the anxiety away. Kenny has already started continuing on with the group all on one side, Butters moving to follow. Ike glances over at Kyle for a moment, before his eye catches and he turns completely to stare. Kyle gives him a curious look as his eyes widen, the _SMASH_ of the window above him sending glass falling onto him like rain. 

Kyle holds in a scream of terror as fingers brush his shoulder, the nails digging into the fabric of his coat. He twists in the grasp, coming face to face with what once was a police officer. The rotter has no jaw, the tongue hanging from his mouth, ripped in half. Red tendrils of meat and flesh sway as it tries to lurch forward, a stray tooth buried deep in the hanging half of the butchered face. The smell of congealed blood rolls over Kyle like a wave as the rotter tries to make noise, the throat constricting barely visible behind the swaying meat.

He gags as stomach acid works it’s way up his throat, his hand tensing around the wrench Stan gave him. As he tries to tug free from the grasp he lifts his right hand, bringing the wrench down hard on the side of the rotters deformed face. It makes a gurgling sound upon the thud of impact, dark black blood leaking from the new hole in it’s head. The grip on his shoulder makes moving his arm difficult but with fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins he raises the wrench up again, smashing into it’s temple.

Thick blood oozes from it’s eye and the grip on his shoulder slackens. Kyle hits the temple again and again, until the side of it’s head has caved in, slick hair matting into the blood and flesh. Small flecks of yellowy white are stick to the wound, and Kyle retches as he realises it’s skull. As the hand loses its hold on his shoulder, another replaces it and Stan tugs Kyle away from the wall and into his chest, stumbling away from the writhing body.

Kyle’s breath comes out in heaves, his lungs burning as he tries to inhale but his lungs squeeze any air from his chest. The lack of oxygen leaves spots in his vision, the slight of Craig ramming his bat deep into the rotters head, smashing it into the wall blurred at the edges. The acid in his throat burns and his hands scramble against Stan’s as he struggles to gasp in a breath.

“Hey hey, it’s alright, you’re okay, you’re okay!” Stan’s hold around him is tight, a wall of warmth against his cold clammy skin. Stan holds his shoulders against him, squeezing them firmly as his chest begins to slow it’s thudding pace. “Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck!” The air is crisp and almost painfully cold as Kyle slowly gasps in it. He watches as Craig jerks his bat out of the head of the rotter, flicking it down and spraying blood and flesh onto the pavement.

“How the fuck did that happen?”

“Ah! T-the rotter broke the window, Christ!”

Kenny places a gentle hand on Kyle’s elbow as Stan let’s him go and steadies him with an arm around his back instead. “It didn’t hurt you did it?” He shakes his head, breathing slowly and purposely, blinking the spots from his eyes. “Shit, that was fucking scary.” Stan huffs beside him and Kyle can feel the shake in his hand around his arm. “Yeah.” He laughs, his eyes trained on the limp corpse dangling from the window in front of him. 

Kenny follows his gaze and gives a light laugh, barely anything more than blowing air out his nose. “Pig. Good riddance.” He turns back to Kyle with a concerned smile. “You okay to keep going?” He asks. 

Kyle swallows and brushes away the stray pieces of glass and brick from his coat. “Yeah.” He repeats himself, but Kenny doesn’t seem to notice, distractedly giving him a smile and heading back to the front of the group to continue the lead. “Hey, you were pretty badass wailing on that rotter. Are you sure you’re okay?” Stan starts with a smile but ends with his voice low, his hand dropping from Kyle’s shoulder to pick up the wrench that Kyle hadn’t even realised he’d dropped. 

“I’m okay, just scared the shit out of me uh,” he looks down at his blood stained, shaking hand ‘I’ve never killed something before.” Technically a lie, he’s killed probably hundreds of bugs, but he’s never had _blood_ on his hand before. From bashing it until it let go of him, until he saw bone and blood. He glances back at the corpse and his stomach gives a turn. “Yeah, it’s pretty fucked up. I’m sorry you had to do that, I should’ve been quicker or-” “Stan, it’s fine.” 

Stan nods his head solemnly, nudges him forward and they follow the group away, leaving the rotter corpse behind.


End file.
